


River City Motel

by MrsMollyH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Exhibitionism, Hotel Sex, Hotels, Kink Meme, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mirror Sex, Original Character(s), POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Spanking, Texas, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:43:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMollyH/pseuds/MrsMollyH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt, "A hotel clerk watches Sam and Dean through a peephole/double mirror/hole in the wall/etc and gets more than s/he bargained for. S/he was pretty sure the two hot guys in the old car were lovers but s/he had no idea they were brothers too. " over at SPN Masquerade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	River City Motel

Marissa is half asleep at the check-in counter at the River City Motel just outside downtown San Antonio when the front door swings open around 3am and two rather large men walk through. One is taller than the other, and Marissa realizes he’s _really_ tall, nearing 6-1/2 feet, and he has a set of shoulders on him like a linebacker. His face has high, sloped cheekbones and a wide nose, and when he turns to her, he smiles, revealing straight white teeth and a pair of dimples that make her realize she definitely has a thing for dimples that she never knew about. His face is framed by long, chestnut hair that falls into mercurial hazel eyes. Behind him is another man, tall, though not as tall as the first, broad-shouldered and a little bit bowlegged. His hair is a messy, dirty blonde, his eyes are startlingly green, and he’s wearing a smirk that reads sin all over. She can tell they’ve had a couple drinks, and they don’t have much of a comprehension for personal space—their shoulders touch and brush, and they’re within a pace of each other at all times. Marissa’s night just improved rather drastically over the course of the last thirty seconds.

"How can I help you boys?" She asks, all Texas drawl and sweet invitation.

“A room with two doubles, please?” The tall one says, offering up a charming smile. Marissa has a room with two doubles available. But she also has one with just a king, and it’s next door to her manager’s suite. She paints herself with a sad look.

“I’m sorry honey, we only have one room left. And it’s just got a king.” She raises a sympathetic eyebrow to him, masking her face in sweet, twenty-something kindness. The older of the two kicks his boot against the ground. She hears him gruff, “Whatever, it’s late, just take it.”

With a sigh, the tall one shifts his wallet out of his back pocket and hands over a Mastercard.

“All right, Mr.,” she checks the card, “Koch, is it?” He nods. “Just for one night?” He nods again, and she books the room under Samuel Koch. From the rack behind her, she lifts the room key with its old fashioned fob on it and places it in his large, outstretched hand. “Y’all are in room 2," She gestures with an outstretched arm toward the direction of the room. "If you turn left out of the office, it’s the second door on the left. You can park in front of the room. Vending machines are at the end of the hall, and if you need anything, just dial ‘0’ on your phone.”

The men nod at her, each offer a trace of a smile and head out to their car. The vehicle rumbles as they pull it in front of their room. She sidles over to the window and watches each of them grab a duffle out of the trunk and slip wordlessly into their room. There’s a low knot in her belly as she places the “Will Return in 30 Minutes!” sign on the front desk. It’s the dead of night, and she hadn’t seen anyone in two hours before these two came in. She locks everything down, and moves quickly out the door and down the open walkway to the first door on the left: the Manager’s Suite.

Marissa unlocks the suite and closes the door softly behind her. She locks it and grimaces at the hard thunk the deadbolt makes, holding still and listening for voices from the room next door. She breathes out slowly when she hears none.

This room is set up similarly to the rest of the rooms in the motel, except for one difference: there is a two-way mirror in the wall that’s hidden by a large landscape painting. If you walk into the manager’s suite, you would have no idea anything was amiss—there’s just a painting in this room that is not featured in the others. In the room next door, Room 2, a large framed mirror takes up a large portion of the wall opposing the bed. 

Marissa removes the painting from the wall, and is granted a wide-open view of the room she just checked the two men into. The shorter one is at the breakfast table cleaning a number of guns—not at all unusual, considering they’re in the heart of south Texas. He’s rolled up his sleeves and has accidentally wiped gun oil on his cheek where he brushed his hand over his face. His cheekbones stand out like blades under those incredible green eyes, and his hands move quickly over the guns he’s cleaning, the picture of expertise and finesse.

At first, she can’t see the taller one. She wonders if she missed him, if he saw her come in. She scans the room as best she can for one minute, then two, her breath catching in her chest. _Did he see me?_

Her fears are calmed when he comes out of the bathroom with a towel swung low on his hips, his hair wet and clinging to his skin. He runs his large hand through his hair and pulls it back from his face, and the movement exposes hard muscle in his sides. She catches a glimpse of the hard v just above his hipbones. The man at the table looks over at the man who called himself Sam and sets the gun down. 

“Dean,” the taller man finally speaks and his voice is like gravel. “Dean, come be good for me.”

She finally has a name to put with the dirty blond hair and bowlegs. Dean rises to his feet and makes his way swiftly over to Sam, untying the towel around his hips and freeing an increasingly hard cock. Marissa gasps at the size, and is even more surprised when Dean takes it into his mouth, licking and sucking and worshipping it to the best of his ability.

"Good boy, Dean," Sam whispers, running his fingers through Dean's short-cropped hair.

Sam moves his hand to Dean’s shoulders and slips the button down shirt he has on off his shoulders. 

“Do you think she knows, Dean?” Sam asks, running his hand along the broad line of Dean’s shoulder. Marissa stills behind the glass, her breath silent. “Do you think the girl at the desk knows what a good boy you are for your brother?” Dean moans just loud enough that Marissa can hear it through the paper-thin wall, and she’s so tense she feels like her skin is going to shatter like glass. 

Sam dips his head back and breathes hard, chest heaving with the effort as Dean engulfs his cock whole and lifts a hand to caress the sensitive skin of his balls. 

Marissa backs away from the two-way mirror until her calves touch the rough fabric of the comforter on the bed behind her, and she sits suddenly, silently. She can’t stop watching even though she knows how wrong this is. The air in the room is still and ever-warming, utterly silent. She is sure the men will be able to hear her breath, sure of it, impossible though it may be.

Sam runs a hand through his messy hair and looks down at his brother. “Strip, Dean, and get on the bed. Hands and knees. Be a good boy for me.”

The speed at which the shorter man undresses is impressive, to say the least. Marissa admires the hard slope of his back that he reveals upon pulling off the black v-neck he had on under the button down. His ass is a firm curve built by hard labor and hard living. His eyes are hooded with need and his lashes are dusty against his skin as he positions himself on the bed according to his brother’s command.

“Are you going to be good for me, Dean?” Sam asks again, placing his weight on the bed and leaning over his brother, his voice husky and wanton. Dean nods his head, and then offers a keen of, “Yes, Sammy.” Dean’s impressive cock is already hard against his stomach, and his breath is ragged.

“You were so good waiting for me, Dean,” Sam purrs, running his hand along the muscle of Dean’s ass. “How long has it been since I last made you come?”

Dean releases a huff of breath as Sam’s fingers ghost along his hole. “Three days. Since before we began the hunt here.”

“That’s right. In the motel outside of Savannah.” Without warning, Sam lifts his large hand and brings it down square on the curve of Dean’s ass. Dean tenses hard, startled, but doesn’t cry out. “I think I’ll be easy on you tonight, Dean. You’re too hard to have touched yourself since then.” Dean nods, head dropping between his shoulders.

Sam makes his way over to the duffle bag and Marissa has the time to take in the tableau, the long lines of Sam’s retreating back and his firm legs, the hard muscle of Dean’s wanton, tense body, almost vibrating with need.

Sam picks a small bottle up out of the duffle bag and returns to Dean’s side. With a small motion, Sam covers his fingers in lube, and ghosts his hand between the cleft of Dean’s ass. “Open up for me Dean.” First Sam offers Dean just one finger, sliding it in and out of Dean’s hole until he feels Dean pushing himself back, then gives him two, scissoring them and enjoying the hard breaths he’s gifted as Dean’s body yearns for purchase against slick skin. When Dean’s breathing turns to a needy, keening sound, Sam grants him three fingers.

“Sammy, please,” it’s hard and clipped and Christ, it’s like gravel in his throat the way it comes out, and Sam decides to grant the wish, replacing his fingers with his cock, easing inside his brother and enjoying the tension knowing that it burns—it always burns, but that burn feels like being alive and he knows that’s why Dean is chasing it. He begins his thrusts in earnest, the hard bones of his hips meeting his brother’s ass, a hard flat slap that sounds like safety together.

Marissa is motionless in the Manager’s Suite, watching through the darkened two-way glass, watching these men—brothers, she reminds herself—as they move in harmony like years of practice and years of hard living, a life of guns and danger, and she can see why they need each other if lives are on the line. There’s both a firmness and a kindness to them as she watches the larger of the two thrust into the other, hands gripping hips, but never digging.

Dean’s lashes are a dark brush against his flushing cheeks, his breath coming in hard gasps with each thrust of Sam’s hips. Marissa watches as Sam brings his hand down hard on each side of his brother’s ass, a quick _1,2_ of percussive motion. Dean squeezes his eyes shut against the movement and she hears a needy grunt thread its way out of him, a hard sound like he's drowning but doesn't wish to breathe.

“You’re always so good for me, Dean,” Sam bites, moving his hand up to grip the meat of Dean’s shoulder, his cock pressing deeper and finding that point inside him that breaks him into a keening mess. Dean’s fingers fist in the sheets and Sam grabs the longer hair at the crown of Dean’s head and pulls back. Sam leans, whispering filth in Dean’s ear and wrapping his hand around his brother’s exposed throat.

“So fucking pretty like this, Dean,” Sam hisses, mouthing at Dean’s ear, thrusts never slowing, finally, kindly reaching his hand to grip his brother’s cock and strip its length, hard and fast. “Be good for me Dean, come for me. Look in the mirror and show her how you come. She can see you, you know.”

Marissa is bolted in place as Sam lifts his head and smirks in her direction. Dean opens his eyes and bucks hard, spilling over the old, tattered comforter on the king size bed. Sam thrusts once, twice, a third time, and his face goes tight as he comes, shaking hard and tensing. After a moment, he pulls out, and rests Dean on his side, running his large hand through his brother’s hair.

He stands from the bed, naked and unabashed, cock slick with lube and come, barely softening, and makes his way over to the mirror that Marissa is still and seated behind, watching. Sam places his hand to the mirror, fingers spread, breath fogging the glass he’s so close to it.

“Two-way mirror,” he says, “You think I’ve never seen one before?” And he winks, turning back around and going to his brother, laying affectionate hands on him and leaving Marissa in stunned silence a thin wall away.


End file.
